


made of gold

by keithyourpal



Series: alternate reality!sheith [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithyourpal/pseuds/keithyourpal
Summary: Even in the alternate reality, Akira and Sven are pulled apart.





	made of gold

“This doesn’t change anything,” Akira says to the darkness.

Sven must know he would say it. Still, Akira is thankful that he can’t see how much his words will hurt Sven anyway.

Beneath him, Sven’s touch and movements, the very cadence of his breath, are clumsy from the heat. The cheap Aurielian booz certainly can’t help. Akira himself still feels the residual burn trailing from his throat to his gut, the acrid aftertaste, the molten swirl of his thoughts and feelings blurring together. This entire thing is a bad idea, but fuck it, they’re here now, and they’re doing this. Sven’s thick scent dripping with need for him, _just_ for him, is too much to turn down now.

As much as Akira doesn’t want to hurt Sven, that seems to be all he’s done these past few years, ever since he went toe-to-toe with the Altean empress and realized he was fated to her, their sworn enemy. And ever since he’s been eaten up by the overwhelming pull to her, by resentment, by a myriad of other dark festering emotions he can never hope to escape from.

And despite it all, Sven is still _here_ , never asking for anything in return. So, no matter how much it will hurt them tomorrow, this is the least Akira can do for him.

Sven’s hips roll up, grinding his bulge against one of Akira’s thighs, a silent plea for release. His motor functions are shot. They both had a few drinks too many by the time Akira noticed the telltale signs that Sven was, by some carelessness or mistake, was starting his heat.

“That’s enough, big guy,” Akira said as he hoisted Sven off his stool, staggering away from the rowdy throng of their fellow Guns and their beleaguered Aurielian bartender. “Let’s get you back to base, yeah?”

“No,” Sven had responded, and almost broke Akira’s nose when he kissed him with a reckless, unwieldy force that suddenly made Akira aware of the omega’s fifty extra pounds of muscle. Most of the time Sven made it so easy to forget how big he was.

From there they stumbled up the stairs and through the first unlocked door down the hall, crashing onto the dirty bed in a whirlwind of heat-drunk kisses, with Sven’s desperate voice in his ear begging _just once, please, just this once_. The noise he made when Akira sank his teeth in his scent gland almost made this all worth it.

As he blindly touches Sven now, palms sweeping across the broad muscles of his abdomen, Akira remembers how _small_ he used to be, when they first met at one of the Guns’ displacement centers. Sven had only been thirteen, a shell-shocked scrap of a boy who was just one of millions separated from his family in the chaos on Earth. A statistic from the last wave of evacuations before the Alteans completely took the planet over.

Akira happened to be the only human in the unit stationed at that particular center on that particular day, and Sven had stuck to him like a burr ever since. It was that simple, and yet it was so much more complicated. The Guns had neither the time nor resources to help splintered families find each other. There were galaxies of fallout from the Alteans’ conquest, millions of displaced lifeforms. Earth and her people weren’t special.

At the time, Akira hadn’t realized that yet. He was still young and naïve, still certain that the Guns had a fighting chance to free Earth and all the other planets from Altean control. That even though his own family could be light years apart, he might be reunited with them if he just kept looking, just kept fighting.

And he gave Sven that same false hope, that someday the fighting would stop, that they could go home, and their lives could resume.

More than the bitter alcohol or the tang of heat pheromones, Akira tastes conviction in in Sven’s kiss, and it’s why they’re here in this shitty room in this shitty bar on this shitty planet, and not back at base where Akira could at least pretend he was still doing the right thing.

Sven’s low voice breaks as he begins to whine, a small sound that pitches up pathetically when Akira wrestles his leggings off and grabs his hips, urging him to flip over on his front. Akira strokes the side of his flank, knowing the gesture will trigger an involuntary response for Sven to arch his back and display, and is glad he can’t see it, is afraid of how far gone he’d be right now if he could. But God he can still smell it, the perspiration and slick along the back of Sven’s legs. He laps at it, licking up along Sven’s muscles until he reaches his ass, then further until he reaches his slit.

“Akira,” Sven gasps, jerking at the feel of Akira’s tongue, “I—”

“Be quiet,” Akira says, his voice falling into the low alpha register. Fuck, Sven is so wet, so inviting. He’s everything Akira imagines during his ruts, when he thinks of Empress Allura. He draws back, moving so he crouches over Sven’s back, his teeth a hair’s breadth from the omega’s ear. “So, you’ve let other alphas knot you?”

It isn’t a question, any more than the subtle note of shame polluting Sven’s scent is an answer. Akira has seen the kinds of men Sven will slink off with during their downtime, aliens from all manner of far-off bases and ravaged worlds, from every species imaginable, all of them seven feet tall and covered with fur or fangs, often both. Everything that Akira, a lissome half-Altean who can’t reach six feet tall even in his tallest boots, isn’t.

“What’s it to you?” Sven bites back in a cracked voice. “We all carry our torches differently.”

Akira snarls and Sven, to his confused delight, goes further into the presentation, flattening his chest against the mattress while lifting his hips up against Akira’s front, so that his slick entrance presses against his cock. Sven’s entire body trembles from the strain of holding the position, his breath ragged and expectant as he waits silently for Akira to finish scenting him.

A deep, gnarled scar cuts across his right shoulder blade, his only keepsake from Earth. Akira touches it clumsily, scraping his nails across the marred skin. Sven has other scars, as does Akira, but this one is the biggest and oldest, the only part of Sven’s life that Akira wasn’t there for. As he bites down again into the same scent gland before on the side of Sven’s throat, tasting blood, he wonders if maybe he could break his bond to Empress Allura tonight, if he could free them both.

Then he releases his hold on Sven’s flesh, and knows he won’t.

**Author's Note:**

> s8 came out right when i was trying to finish this up and i was just too upset to write more than this. i hope that one day i can return to these characters with the hope and love i used to have.


End file.
